Dirty Cherry Cookies
by CrazyIndigoChild
Summary: Okay, so Randy's baking again, which is totally cool and Randy-like. But with a food intolerance to cherry, his roommate Mike is suspicious as to whom the cookies are for. Perhaps his new "friend?" Damn cherry cookies!


_So I was, for some strange and completely inexplicable reason, looking up some pictures for poses and I got this WILD idea to make someone else draw it for me! _

_This little Sully/Randy fic is in anticipation for the new Monster's U movie coming out later this month. It's for DontBeAZombie (A.k.a Toxic-dolls) who will be coming across the country to visit me and we're going to go see it in theatres together! Yay!_

* * *

"...So I've preheated the oven to 350 degrees, now I have to- oh shoot, where'd I put my oven mitts?" Tearing away from the small recipe card, he removed his glasses to wipe off the small fleck of flour. Twisting and stalking to his kitchen supplies, a box filled to the brim with measuring cups, thermometers, cookbooks, and birthday candles, he all but dumped everything onto the batter-painted counter. "Maybe I left them in the- Oh!"

The purple and blue monster slithered across the floor to the stove where his green oven mitts lay neatly on the top. With a nervous chuckle, and a rather geeky snort due with little thanks to his irritated allergies, he slipped on the gloves and opened the oven to ever-so-gently slide the baking sheet in...

"The jerks!" slammed the door, breaking Randy's unnecessarily rapt focus and care. Instead of gently placing the cookies into the oven his spastic, nervous arm flailed and threw the tray at the back of the oven and knocked against the hot roof. He hissed and swallowed an obscene 'dang!'. "I can't believe those jocks call themselves monsters! I'll tell you what they are... they're... jerks!"

Done with his kitten-handling gentleness, he slammed the oven door shut and began tossing his kitchen supplies back into the box. Heavy footsteps and shouting stormed up the hall to his shared dorm room, the door being thrown open, smashing against the wall, shutting, then opening again with a confused "Randy?"

"I'm in the kitchen," he called over his shoulder, taking a moment to flip through the 'Terrifyingly Delicious recipes of the East' cookbook he'd bought on impulse at the campus bookstore. "What did they do now-?"

"Can you believe those jerks!?" his roommate began, stomping- actually his feet made more of a slapping noise- to the fridge and threw it open.

Randy waited a moment for the shorter monster to carry on before cautiously taking his cue to speak. "What... um, what happened, Mike?"

"You know those numbskulls from ROR? They decided it would be fun to mess around with my scream training at the gym." Randall patiently fiddled with his hands and watched the short, lime bowling ball of his roommate grab a pop and slam the fridge door shut. Inside something rattled and fell over. The other monster didn't care and turned to face him at the stove, his eye red as through he'd been crying... or sprayed cleaner in it again. "I don't know how they found out I was scared of clowns but they did and-" he shuddered at the memory, "well they're all buffoons!"

Immediately Randy could see where this was going: he would have to sit around the dorm all night listening to Mike ranting and raving, occasionally being prompted to agree and repeat into the litany of 'those jerks'. Peace and quiet gone out the window as long as Mike's plan for revenge remained simply a mess of markers on their dorm wall behind the bookcase.

The lizard looked at the clock on the microwave; he didn't have time to listen to Mike tonight. "...Can you believe that?"

"Those jerks!" he repeated absently, looking through the tiny glass window at his rising cookies. Mike made a noise of agreement from the lip of his pop can and picked up with his rant with a loud belch. Randy compulsively checked the cookies again then checked the clock.

He sighed at the mess on the counter and reached for the rag to begin wiping the countertop, hoping Mike's ginormous eye wasn't blind enough to get the hint and maybe offer a hand while he was pressed for time. "...And that Sullivan guy-Ugh! I can't wait to crush him at the tryouts. He's going to regret the day he challenged the great Mike Wazowski! I've been training since I was little for this..."

Randy froze. It was a good thing he had his back turned and Mike was too busy digging the dirt out from under his nails to notice the faint orange spots bleeding out against the purple. Ignorant to Randy clearing his throat to politely nudge his way into the conversation, Mike continued with his story.

"Sullivan, Mike? Like James Sullivan?"

Mike stopped, grimacing at the terribly rude cut-off, then shrugged. "Yeah, 'James P. Sullivan'" he quoted in a 'deep' dumb voice. "That polka-dotted block head..." Uh oh.

Randy toyed with the frame of his glasses, took them off to clean them, then jerkily danced between putting them back on and keeping them off. Would he look better without the glasses? Maybe he should invest in some contacts.

Cookies checked, time nervously checked, Randy skittered off to their shared dorm room eager to spend the fifteen minutes he had left getting ready. Mike seamlessly shifted from dramatically waving his can around the kitchen, cursing the likes of James P. Sullivan, to wandering behind him into the bedroom where he plopped himself at his desk and settled in for a long night. "...And another thing-" he paused with a frown, eye darting around the room.

He sniffed and rolled his tongue inside his ridiculously cavernous mouth. "Are you baking something?"

"Cookies," Randy supplied, pulling out one of his sweaters from the closet and holding it against his chest to inspect in the mirror. Red was a really good colour on him.

Mike went shockingly quiet, unsettling his nerves even more as silence with the green chatterbox was usually associated with thinking. Sure he wasn't the fullest scream chamber in the pack, but he must admit Mike could do some mental magic the rare times he'd stopped and thought about something. He heard another sniff through the thick wool of his sweater as he pulled it over his head. "Aren't you allergic to cherry?"

"I have a food intolerance to cherry," Randy corrected for not the first- nor the last- time, "Not the same thing. And they're not for me."

A look of disgust came over the green blob. "I hate cherry."

"They're not for you either."

"Well who are they for?" Oh no.

Randy tugged at the wrists on his sweater, concerning himself with the patterns in the wool and the loose threads sticking out here and there: anything to keep his all-telling face from his roommate. "They're- uhh, they're for someone else."

Mike sat up in his seat to eye him suspiciously, setting his pop can aside to soberly clasp his hand over folded knees. "A friend?" he searched.

"Sure," Randy gulped, the tips of his fingers going beet red. He could feel the hot blush creeping up his body. "Those cookies should be done now!" and he darted, slithering and worming his body through the half-open door.

Slapping after him was the bold and ignorant Wazowski, strutting after him into the kitchen. "Well hey, that's great! See, I told you it wouldn't be long until you made some friends..."

Dang dang dang dang dang. He checked the clock again, only a couple minutes until his... Gah! "...So who's this new pal of yours? He must be something strange if you're making cookies with cherry-"

"It's a date, Mike!" the lizard blurted. Unsurprisingly screaming the truth didn't do much to calm his tightening nerves.

Mike stared. A very very unsettling expression with that one huge, larger than life eye of his. "...Wow! You dog!" he cheered, rearing up for a high-five, one he quickly took back when Randy only stared and turned to the oven mitts on the stove and began shoving his thick hands into the gloves. "So who's the girl?"

Without a response Mike began the only thing he knew: ramble. As Randy gingerly pulled the hot sheet out of the oven and fished a small tupperware container to neatly pile them into, Mike started numbering off the very short list of female monsters he knew. He was probably expecting the lizard to jump and flail and scream "THAT'S HER!" because when he'd gone through the list without so much as a grin he started reviewing the list again.

About a quarter of the way through his third repetition they were both startled into silence when the hallway exploded with squealing screams and thundering, monstrous sounds. One of them in particular seemed rather familiar to the lime softball. The huge flap of his eyelid drawing over his eye like a shade to half-mast; "What the..."

Another roar and Mike was slapping to the common-room door to glance out into the hallway. Sounds of laughter drifted in from the hallway and Randy knew he'd just run out of time. Forgetting the lid on his container, he tucked the cookies under his arm and crept towards Mike and the door. Let's just hope the endless hours of practising all year would allow him a good few moments of cloaking to sneak past Mike and out the door.

"Sullivan's here! What's that hairy troll doll doing here? Shouldn't he be out throwing old ladies into trees or decapitating teddy bears with his idiot friends?" clutching his container tight, Randy gingerly took to the wall, slithering over the beige wallpaper soundlessly and, if he said so himself, with amazing stealth! "This isn't even his dorm, now we have to listen to this all night! Some monsters!"

He made it to the door, creeping over the doorjamb and looking down on the green egg of his roommate peering out the open door. A small part of him felt guilty for trying to sneak away, but he just couldn't bring himself to let the disaster just moments away ruin his night.

With a quiet breath he curled around the doorjamb and, just as he caught sight of the blue furball swaggering down the hallway, the thick metal of the door swung back and clocked him square in the head. Light strobed in front of his eyes as Mike opened the door to and tried to close it again by shoving it harder into the doorjamb, catching him in the back of the head again and again and again.

"Stop- Mike, STOP!"

"Wha- Randall?!"

The door swung back wide and Randy slumped to the ground at Mike's feet, cookies scattering all over the carpet. Rubbing the watermelon growing on the back of his head, he winced and groaned, crawling back towards the kitchen.  
Catching sight of his hands and wrists, he was rather vexed to find his cloaking had shortwired under the repeated beating to the back of the head; where his skin had been completely transparent, it was now a rather unflattering shade of orange with some kind of green cloud patterns.

"What the hell are you-" Mike stopped short, the cogs in his head whirring loudly as it strained to put the pieces together in the impromptu moment of silent thought. "Randall!" he gasped, door slamming behind him. "Randall, no! Not Sullivan!"

In his orange shame, Randy fumbled to pick up the cookies that had fallen into the door, blowing off the little floofs of dust and tossing them back into the container. "Why not, Mike? Sully's really a nice guy-"

"Don't call him that!"Mike wailed, "He's not a nice guy, Randy, he's a jerk! A selfish jerk who humiliates monsters like you and me; Sullivan doesn't deserve the dirt cherries on your cookies!"

Randall grimaced and stood up to slap the crumbs from his shirt. "He wanted to be my friend, Mike- he asked me out on a date! Sully likes me! Me, Mike!"

He seemed shocked and Randall couldn't decipher his expression for anything. Mike looked like he wanted to be mad but instead his gaze ducked to the carpet and shyly mumbled, "Randy, I... I didn't know you..." There was a small knock at the door and Mike sidestepped to avoid Randall skittering past him to open the door.

"He's here!? You told him to come here?! Tell him to go away- here I'll do it for you. GO AWA-"

Faster than his eye could catch, Randy had torn the mitts from his hands and stuffed all six into the huge mouth. Ew. "I'll be right there!"

Much to Randy's relief, the monster on the other side wasn't the air-headed, jersey-wearing jock of Mike's rants, but a shy, kind creature with a little too much nervous eagerness in his eyes when he was met with the sight of his date. "Hey, Randy! I—umm- are you ready to go?"

Randall smiled, the skin beneath his sweater turning a bright pink that bled out into his neck and face, and body and legs. In the kitchen behind him Mike cleared his throat before slapping up to the door, body pushed out to make up for the lack of chest.

When the little green thing got to the door Sully coughed nervously and struggled to meet his eye. "Make sure you have him back by midnight," Mike began, "And don't try anything funny; I have a trident under my mattress and I know how to use it."

The blue monster looked between Mike and Randall, looking for a hint of a joke but only found Randy's translucent, apologetic smile and a very serious Wazowski. "Yes, sir."

"Alright," he acquiesced, picking up the container of cookie pieces at his feet and shoving them into Randall's arm before shoving him out the door. "Eat these cookies and watch out for those jer- thugs."

Handing the cookies to Sully, who took them with wide, hungry eyes, Randy managed a thankful smile at his friend before the door slammed behind them.

Through the door all the way down the hall, the sound of gagging and "Ugh! Cherry!" followed them out the door and onto the campus streets.

Randy smiled and gently snuck his hand into Sully's great big paw to stroke the long blue fur there. He knew James P. Sullivan wasn't a bad guy like Mike thought. Sully would prove it to them both; maybe it would take some time but he knew there was something special about this one.


End file.
